


Don't Grow Up Sideways

by Del



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: F/M, Ryoma is a brat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 21:26:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/816225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Del/pseuds/Del
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The problem is not that Ryuzaki is kind and eager to please. The problem is she’s kind to <i>everyone</i> and <i>everyone</i> is pleased.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Grow Up Sideways

**Author's Note:**

> Set magically in high school but with everyone still playing tennis. I tried to write the RyoSaku fic that I wanted to read. Operative word: tried.

A senior walks in while they’re cleaning the classroom, some tall guy Ryoma doesn’t recognize. It’s pretty unusual, but not really worth the sudden dramatic silence that falls over the room or the frantic whispers that start up right after. Ryoma starts cleaning the chalkboard again, already bored and thinking of afternoon practice, when he hears something that makes him stop halfway through erasing a longwinded paragraph on the Meiji Restoration.

“Ryuzaki-san, right?”

The senior doesn’t bother to acknowledge the crowd of rubbernecking freshman, just drapes himself over a desk with practiced nonchalance. Ryuzaki stops sweeping and knits her hands together around the broom handle. In the space before she replies, a girl by the window whispers to her friend and then they both start to laugh, soft and secret.

Ryuzaki grips the broom a little tighter.

“Yes?”

When he grins at her she smiles back a little, reflexively sweet in way that annoys Ryoma.

_This is stupid_ , he thinks. He wants to duck out and take the bus across town, find a street court, and play some anonymous, dominating tennis. He doesn’t want to watch Ryuzaki frown and bring one hand up to her lips as she says, “Um, are you Suzuki-senpai’s brother?”

“Yeah, we met already at sis’ last tournament. You don’t remember me?”

Ryuzaki turns pink and clutches the broom to her chest.

“Oh! I’m sorry, senpai! I must have been really focused on the matches—”

Ryoma hates that she’s apologizing but not as much as he hates the overly casual way the guy touches her on the shoulder and says, _“Relax_ , I’m just messing with you.”

He smiles at her and she sighs in relief and Ryoma leaves because _this is stupid_. He leans against a vending machine, drinks his Ponta in three gulps, and crushes the can.

==

_Suzuki-senpai’s brother_ pops up now and again. He shoots lazy waves at Ryuzaki when he brushes by her in the stairwell and stops to chat when he drops by girl’s tennis practice to pick up his sister. Every time he talks to her Ryuzaki looks baffled and then smiles, friendly and open, and Ryoma wants to say, _you can’t do that_ but that makes no sense at all.

==

Heat shimmers off the hardcourts. Everyone at practice moves sluggishly through the still, thick air. Even Tezuka’s shoulders droop a little under the afternoon sun as he barks out the order for practice matches, pushing up his glasses to wipe at the sweat on the bridge of his nose.

There’s no breeze for Fuji’s Hakugei, no clouds to promise rain, barely an inch of shade from the nets on the courts and nowhere to hide from the heat. His jersey keeps sticking to his shoulder blades and he desperately wants to adjust his shorts but there’s this tight crowd of girls by the fence on their camera phones and yeah, it’s just not a good idea. His skin is starting to itch at the brim of his cap and his waistband, and he really just wants to sprawl on the grass somewhere and doze until the sun goes away.

It’s Ryoma’s serve. Across the net a red-faced Arai keeps sending limp half-waves to one of the texting girls. When she looks up and smiles at him she flashes two rows of slightly crooked teeth and straightens her shoulders so that her breasts stick out. Arai’s gaze drags up her body as Ryoma bounces the ball once, twice, a warning.

_Disgusting,_ he thinks and _this is a waste of my time_ and, completely against his will, he has a sudden image of Ryuzaki in her sailor fuku, sweat sticking her thighs together and--

He hits a knuckle serve that catches Arai below the ear and sends him flying. Ryoma feels satisfaction for only a second before crooked-teeth girl is dashing across the court, skirt flapping behind her, screaming “ _Arai-kun!_ ” as if he’d just been shot. She falls to her knees next to him and touches his shoulder. “Arai-kun, are you ok?”

He stares up at her breasts and says, “I’m ok, Takahashi-san” and Ryoma is already walking away towards the vending machine because this isn’t tennis, it’s just a colossal waste of his time.

=

“O-chi-bi,” Eiji says, throwing an arm around Ryoma’s shoulder. He shrugs it off. “Go easy on Arai. He’s got a date tomorrow!”

 “So?”

“That’s cold,” Fuji says, smiling that secret smile of his. Ryoma thinks for a second that maybe Fuji can read minds. Maybe he sees all the filth running through people’s heads and that’s why he’s always smiling.

“You’ll understand one day, kiddo,” Eiji says, crooking his arm around Ryoma’s neck. He grins and rubs his fist in Ryoma’s scalp and Ryoma’s so busy trying to squirm out of Eiji’s grip that he almost doesn’t hear Fuji say, “Oh, I’m sure he already does.”

==

The wind lifts Ryuzaki’s skirt as she rushes to receive the ball and there’s an unbearable second of exposed thigh, shadowed and pale, before she skids to a halt and her uniform falls back into place. A little cry rips from her throat as she pours all her strength into the return, barely audible over the crisp sound of the ball’s impact with the racquet.

Ryoma thinks _turn your wrist in, lower your shoulder, be quiet_. Her skirt whips up again and Ryoma hates that it happens and that it happens so quickly and that he can’t look away. Now he’s trapped because sweat mats the hair at the back of her neck and runs down her legs and Ryoma knows her flushed skin would be hot if he put a hand under her shirt and pressed a palm to the small of her back.  

He wants to turn her wrist and peel up her skirt and crowd her against the brick wall. He wants to lick the hollow below her neck and tug at her braids until she squeaks. He wants to play against her without holding back, releasing all the gates and feeling the energy crackling at his fingertips—absolute knowledge, absolute power, absolute skill. It doesn’t make a lot of sense because Ryuzaki pretty much sucks at tennis, but he feels the adrenaline anyway, the prickle at the back of his neck, something like rage or joy building pressure in his chest.

“Your form is sloppy.”  

Ryuzaki swings wildly and misses, stumbling a few steps while the ball shoots into the bushes. She turns around stiffly, eyes wide. She struggles to catch her breath.

“R-Ryoma-kun! What are you doing here?”

“I go to school here.”

His grin is a little sharp. He likes the way her smile falters and she turns bright red all the way down to her collarbone.  She looks equally thrilled and horrified that he’s talking to her. The top button of her polo is undone and a year ago that wouldn’t even have mattered.

Her pulse jumps under his fingers when he wraps his hand around her wrist. He doesn’t know what he wants. Maybe he wants to play tennis.

Her skin is sweaty, and her wrist is so small that he can close his hand around it. She doesn’t resist when he raises her arm and holds it out in front of her.

“You turn your wrist out too much on your swing.”

When he walks away he hears her breathe a sigh of relief, arm still hovering in the air from where he let her go.

==

Ryoma wakes up on Sunday morning with his heartbeat roaring in his ears and a mouth full of Karupin’s hair. His shorts are sticky and he’s sweating even with the breeze through the open window. Karupin puts his paw on Ryoma’s neck and meows once, loudly. Ryoma can’t remember what he dreamt about.

==

His shitty father grins at him over the top of his newspaper, cigarette smoke curling up towards the ceiling. Ryoma can hear the soft clank of the washer from the basement. Shame twists in his gut.

His father’s grin twists slightly, a cat-canary smile. He folds the paper in half and tosses it on the table.

“Want to play a match, boy?”

==

Ryoma conquers in steps: first his father has to grind out his cigarette, then he has to step outside his circle, then he’s running to hit his returns, grinning like he’s been waiting this whole time for Ryoma to catch up. They play until Ryoma is lying on his back with his father standing over him, racquet tipped against one shoulder and smug grin splitting his face.

“What’s her name?” 

 “Tezuka,” Ryoma says just to see his father choke.

==

The problem is not that Ryuzaki is kind and eager to please, it’s that she’s kind to everyone and everyone is pleased. She holds out the box and Momo whoops loudly, reaching for a cupcake at the same time as Kaidoh. Their shoulders brush. Taka winces. There is one second of peace before everyone gets an earful of _WATCH IT MAMUSHI_ and _MOVE IT YOU PRICK_ and Eiji cuts in to grab two cupcakes before the dust has even really settled.

“Did you make these yourself?” Inui asks after taking a bite. “Interesting texture.”

Ryuzaki flushes and something inside Ryoma twists almost painfully.

“Actually the cake is from a mix, but I made the icing…”

She trails off, embarrassed, and bites her lip. Ryoma looks away because the entire team saw that and something in his mind is screaming that _this isn’t fair at all_.

He walks over to the vending machine without taking a cupcake. By the time he’s cracking open his Ponta he can feel her fidgeting behind him. He takes a deep sip and closes his eyes. He tries and fails to squash the part of himself that’s happy she will still leave everyone behind to follow him.

“Um, do you not like cupcakes, Ryoma-kun?”

She’s trying really hard to be casual, but she’s gripping the small box she’s holding tightly and there’s an anxious set to her shoulders that wasn’t there a moment ago. Since she doesn’t have any hands free, she can’t do anything but squeak when he reaches out and grabs one of her braids. He tugs on it lightly, and it’s just a fraction of what he wants but he feels undone anyway. His shorts are tight and he’s got to be blushing but he doesn’t let go, just looks at her from under his cap and says bluntly, “No, I like cupcakes.”

He can see some of the hurt melt from her face, and she struggles to maintain eye contact as she pushes the box into his chest. She’s blushing hard and standing very straight, and Ryoma is trying not to smirk and probably failing.

“Th-that’s good. Because I made you these.”

She pops the lid and inside are three decorated cupcakes: two frosted to look like a tennis ball and one frosted with an outline of his hat, with a tiny clumsily drawn _R_ on it.  

“Thanks, Ryuzaki,” he says, and in his head he adds _sorry_ , because Ryuzaki likes everyone, but Ryuzaki might like him the most. This knowledge warms him from the inside out, and he feels that pressure building in his chest again, hot and sharp. He knows what he wants.

Ryoma takes the box from her, then turns and tugs on her braid.

“Ryoma-kun?”

“Let’s go, Ryuzaki.”

“What’s going on?”

His back is to her but he can imagine her clearly, blush staining her cheeks and blouse blooming open around her long neck, lips parted and brow knit in confusion. He almost wants to turn around just to see her reaction, but drops her braid and takes a step forward, pushing his hands in his pockets.

“We’re going somewhere I can kiss you without all the senpai staring at us.”

Ryuzaki makes a strangled noise, another little animal squeak, but she follows him anyway, just like she always has.

=

 


End file.
